


Movement Forward

by ficsiwontadmitto



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Clothed Sex, F/M, Oral Sex, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-11
Updated: 2015-02-11
Packaged: 2018-03-11 15:41:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3331019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ficsiwontadmitto/pseuds/ficsiwontadmitto
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Smut. That's about it. They have sex on Cullen's desk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Movement Forward

His nails bite sharper than teeth against the soft flesh of her hips. With his breath hot against her neck, she almost forgets that it’s winter in Skyhold. That none of her coats are warm enough to keep the chill out of her bones. But he is. He’s warm enough. 

He bends her over his desk and kicks her feet apart, spreading her to his gaze. Like this, her skirts hiked up, she’s utterly exposed. Behind her, he drops to his knees and presses his mouth against her. Licks along and between her folds until her toes, still in her boots, curl. 

It’s only that he’s lifted up her skirts, pulled down the front of her blouse to expose her breasts, not undressed her completely. No time for that. Her nipples scrape against the coarse grain of his desk as she squirms against it. His nose rubs against her while he sucks at her nub. Until she’s muffling her screams against her arm. Biting herself to keep quiet. 

He pulls back, smugly satisfied with himself and kisses the insides of her thighs. She wants him, badly. But it seems indecent to say as much. To call out to him to fuck her. Instead she moans her pleasure.

“Cullen…”

One of his large hands traces along her spine. The fabric of her dress is thin enough she can feel his fingers on every vertebra. She’s still exposed from the waist down, open for him. With his other hand he slides one finger into her wet sex. Curls it and pushes until she gasps. If she could see his face, he’d surely be smirking.

“What is it, darling?”

“More,” she breathes, “please.”

“Hm, more what?”

She pounds one fist against the desk in frustration. The contents rattle in response. “Anything, just more.”

He laughs low and slides another finger into her. Clamping down she can feel the stretch of him. How he works in a slow rhythm that will never be enough for her. Kisses against the back of her neck then bites down on it. In the morning, her hair will be enough to cover the marks. He bites again until she hisses.

“Tell me, darling, what is it you want?” His mouth is so close to her ear. The weight of his body pressed against her back. His buckles and sharp bits of his armor cut into her skin. She likes it. Feeling like he could wreck her at any moment. 

“I can’t say it,” she whines. She wants him to act, not deliberate. 

“I want to hear it.”

She takes a deep breath before continuing. Closes her eyes, focuses on his fingers inside her, so thick and rough but not enough. He scissors them just then, teasing her with what could be. Her hips push back to meet him, to take more. 

“Fuck me, please.” Her voice stays low, a secret between them. That she could even be this vulnerable for him. Only for him. 

The hand against her back stills, but the one inside her just keeps pressing. Just against the spot inside her that feels best. Dull and full but not yet full enough. She’ll say it again if she has to. 

His fingers slide out. The sound of his buckle loosening and his shifting around. Against her legs she can still feel the fabric of his trousers. But now also the slide of his cock against her bare skin. Not inside, not just yet, but against her all the same. The hand returns to the center of her back, pressing her down. With his other he touches himself instead of her. His presence, his scent, it’s still everywhere. 

“Maker, you are so beautiful. So powerful. And you are mine.” His voice is so widely possessive of her. But only in private. Only like this. He continues, “One day, Lady Inquisitor, Lady Trevelyan, I will change your name.”

Just the barest tip of his cock enters her. It’s not quite as much as his fingers. Not yet. The drag of it is slick. Little by little he enters her, the hand on her back shaking to maintain control. Not even half-way in he speaks again. His voice heavy with desire and barely-there control. 

“I will take you as my wife, show all those nobles in the hall to whom you belong.”

Where the first movement was painstakingly slow, his second thrust is fast, rough, to the hilt. She makes an entirely undignified noise when he hits against her. She feels warm and full and wanted. Her fingers curl but against the wood of the desk there is nothing for her to grab onto. She can’t find purchase so she scratches her nails down. 

He thrusts into her, the whole desk rattling on its uneven legs. Her legs are uneven too as she stretched to reach him, hold herself up, comply in a variety of functions she can only barely remember. One of his hands grips her hip until she’s sure she’ll bruise. And his mouth at her neck, biting and licking over the already present bruising. He’s marking her. 

“Yes, yes, yours, yours,” she pants. Other, more vulgar images pass under her eyelids. Cullen taking her in the hall, in front of the nobles who send courting proposals to them both. A primal way for them to stake their claims on one another. 

Words spill out of his mouth and across her skin, setting it alight. “Do you want me to cum in you, darling? Fill you with my seed? With my child?”

She groans against the desk. Where before she didn’t mind being unable to see his face, she is now desperate for it. She tilts her head but still can only make out the barest corner of him. Her breath hitches as he continues to stroke into her. He is hurried now. They are both close, she can feel it through the few places where their skin comes in contact. He’s electric and so is she. 

“Tell me you’re mine, Maker.” It is as if he can barely get the words out now, where before he seemed so strangely eloquent. He grabs her wrists and pin them to the small of her back as well. Like this she is completely at his mercy. He’ll always be stronger, even if she is more skilled, more clever. “Say you’re mine. That you’ll always be mine. Please, please.”

The words catch in her throat at first. It’s almost too much, how desperate he is despite how weak he has made her. That she could love this man this much is completely beyond her comprehension. It takes real effort to fill her lungs with air, to speak. 

“Yes, Cullen, I belong to you. I love you, only you.”

“Maker.”

He changes pace so erratically it takes her by surprise. Rubs against her at just the right angle her vision blots out for a moment and she’s coming. She’s coming in such sweet waves only his hand at her hip is keeping her on her feet. She’d slide right off the desk otherwise. And true to his word he cums inside her, sticky and wet and mixing with her own desire. Against her back she can feel him shaking. Sometimes, this thing between them swallows them both.

Without him against her, inside her, she’s cold again. But he takes her, turns her around and holds her against his chest. Neither quite have the energy to stand, so they sink against the stone floor. He is careful to arrange her in such a way she doesn’t touch cold surface of the floor, but is perched on top of him. She kisses him, just enough to know this is still real. That they aren’t dead.

He curls his fingers in the hair at the nape of her neck and breathes against her cheek. “You will, won’t you?”

“Will what, Cullen?” She keeps her arms wrapped around his shoulders, holding them both in place.

“Be my wife? I didn’t mean to ask this way, but...I simply couldn’t wait.”

“Oh, Cullen,” her voice is sullen.

“I have no wealth, no title outside the Inquisition. And I know you are nobility still, but, I, Maker.”

She litters kisses down the bridge of his nose, to his lips, over his scar. The little patch of marred skin transfixed her from the first time they met. The way he was handsome enough, kind enough, to make her stomach flip. 

“We may not make it through this. Especially me, Cullen, I can’t put you through that.”

His heart speeds up. “I will protect you.”

“You know you can’t.”

With that his face drops, he cannot look at her. “I know, and it feels as if I am the one who sends you into danger. Aches for you to return.”

“So you know why I cannot?”

“No,” he catches her eyes again. “I know all this and I still want to be your husband. For you to be my bride. If something were to happen, I would endure, but I will not regret not having you.”

She rests her head against his shoulder, his words heavy on her heart. Her breaths are shallow now. This is not something she needs to overthink. She curls her fingers in the ruff of fur around his shoulders. “It will take a long time for the public to remember I am Lady Rutherford.”

“Then I will be very persistent in reminding them.”

**Author's Note:**

> thank fuck I made this shame account.


End file.
